


Attack of the Klaus

by stitchy



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Relatively Fluffy Considering the Canon, Star Wars Jokes, Time Travel, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 14:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: The first movie Klaus Hargreeves ever saw in theaters was Attack of the Clones. Unfortunately Star Wars is the *only* frame of reference he has for what war ought to look like.





	Attack of the Klaus

**Author's Note:**

> Hey maybe in the less-technological TUA universe, the Prequels have 95% less CGI! We don't know!

     The first movie Klaus ever saw in an actual movie theater, complete with popcorn stink and a sticky floor was  _Attack of The Clones_. The Academy kids were thirteen at the time, and starting to push the boundaries of the super regimented, devoid of blockbusters life Dear Old Dad had built around them. In hindsight it was very tame, run of the mill teenagering; along with dyeing each other’s hair, stealing Pogo’s pipe tobacco to roll the world’s worst cigarettes, and sneaking out at night to crash parties.

     At one such party there’d been a debate amongst a group of highschool boys he was attempting to infiltrate as to whether or not  _Clones_ was any good, or if it had ruined  _Star Wars_  forever, yadda yadda, yoda yoda. Things Klaus didn’t have the context for, having spent most of his film-viewing up to that point on documentaries on game theory and the occasional half hour chunk of a Bogart movie. He wondered idly if  _Star Wars_ was at all related to  _War and Peace._  That was one of the heaviest, most boring books on the shelf in the so-called ‘Rec Room’ that he had not read but had instead chucked at Luther when he insisted on wasting their rare tv time by tuning to the freakin’ sports channel.

     “Did you see it?”  
  
     “What?”

     “The new  _Star Wars_.” After struggling to butt into the conversation for forever, one of the guys who seemed pro- _Clones_ was finally noticing him! He leaned casually against a wall papered with band posters and tried to look like a person who was fluent in these normal teenager sorts of things.

     “Oh yeah,” he lied, as easily as if Mom was checking he’d brushed his teeth. “It was so cool.”

     The other boy lit up. “You’re like, the only other person who didn’t hate it.”

     “No way! I loved, uhm, the battles.” Wars had battles, right? And he could bluff about battles. After all, the Academy had all been handling live artillery since they were in kindergarten.

     That night turned out to be the first time anyone ever put their tongue in his mouth, so just in case being conversant in _Star Wars_ would lure future hookups, the next time Klaus snuck out at night he made a beeline for the cinema. Allison and Ben (both still tragically afflicted by the bleach kit mishap) came with him.

     He didn’t know what those dumb party boys were thinking. The way they talked he expected the movie to be unintelligible, but robots, mind powers, child soldiers, creepy manipulative old dudes? Totally realistic.  _Attack of the Clones_  was bitchin’. The best (only) movie he’d ever seen! Crazy swords, crazy aliens, crazy fashion... and who  _didn’t_ want to get ravished in a meadow by some broody hunk while decked out in a crazy dress? People with no taste, that’s who.

     It wasn’t until years later when he was out on his own and free to watch whatever the heck he wanted that he caught the rest of the series.  _Return of the Jedi_ was his favorite, of course. Twinky goth with a benevolent ghost buddy named Ben finally gets to duke it out with his shitty dad? Right on, dude.  _That_ was his sort of war movie, no matter how gritty or gripping people claimed the latest historical epic was, or if Allison happened to star. He could see plenty of blood and guts without buying a ticket, thanks very much. For good bad, that was his frame of reference for what war ought to look like.

     So yeah, if he was going to understate it, 1968 was a bit of a shock. Though there were helicopters enough to make up for a lack of spaceships, Vietnam did not offer a single puppet. No benevolent ghost Ben. Instead of cool-headed space princesses bravely leading the charge towards a clear goal, it was like being a land of Fives, where every last man was a maladjusted, elusive loner with a tragic backstory (Pot, meet Kettle, right?). There were no dehumanized stormtrooper villains, just real live flesh and blood people who’d rather be farming than dodging landmines. Oh, and it was crawling with thousands of fresh, panicked ghosts! Decidely a bad vibe kinda time. The only thing that kept him from just cracking open the suitcase again was the fear he’d wind up even further back in time to a point where they hadn’t yet cultivated pot. If there was one thing he could say for this hell hole of place, it was that it was fuh-luh-ded with drugs. Klaus figured it couldn’t hurt to stick around for a little while, especially if his best alternative was swandiving back into the apocalypse.

     A week in, he wasn’t so sure there was a difference.

     Much to his dismay, Klaus made a medium good soldier if there was such a thing as 'good' in this war. Thanks to Dear Old Dad, he was handy with literally any range weapon (if he was paying attention), could read distances along with the best of scouts, and was already a pro at operating on minimal sleep. Most indispensable of all soldiery traits, he was determined not to die. Klaus had zero interest in chilling with ghosts 24/7 instead of just whatever unfortunate window of time he spent sober. Even being fucked up half the time made him as competant a soldier as the next guy. Judging by the way some of the guys in his company partook, he wasn’t the only one holding back the horrors of the dead.

     Klaus was on perimeter early one morning, half ignoring a stubborn ghost he had named No Brainer and half decided that when he got back to his bunk he’d roll the dice and open the suitcase. Maybe nobody in the present/future was worrying about him, but he missed the bathtub. He missed his sneakers. He missed pizza. He missed any food that didn’t come out of a tin, really.

     “You can say that again,” someone laughed, and Klaus realized he had been thinking outloud. He wasn’t crouched in this pile of sandbags alone. He was posted up with Dave Something With A Hard K Sound... Dave Cute-As-Fuck? Dave Killer-Bod-And-Also-The-Only-Person-Who’d-Bothered-To-Greet-the-New-Guy? Just kidding, he’d been sneaking peeks at the guy enough to tell you how many eyelashes he had, let alone read his dog tags. Dave Katz. He smiled at Klaus and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the strap on his helmet. Now that the sun was up, they wouldn’t get chewed out for lighting up a target right in the middle of their faces (which was likely how ol’ No Brainer bit it). Dave offered him one.

     “Where you from, anyway?”

     Klaus stared off into the forest and took his time with Dave’s zippo as he filed through of all the answers he couldn’t give. “Endor,” he finally puffed.

     “That in Maine?”

     “It's far, far away. There are bears and everything.”

     Dave nodded. “Must be how you’re such a good shot.”

     “That’s a normal reason for that, sure.” Klaus shrugged. “What about you?”

     “Brooklyn.”

     “Okay, so you _do_ know what I’m talking about when I reminisce about pizza. Not that crap they sling on the West Coast.”

     “Yeah,” Dave chuckled. “But don’t let Simmons hear you say that.”

     “Ugh, what a dick.” Apparently the guy had once had a bit part in  _Bonanza_ so now he acted like the king of the foxhole. The last bastion of all that was good and macho and American. Klaus stuck out his middle finger and waved it in the direction of camp. “Don’t worry, he already hates me.”

     “It’s not personal. Yet.” Dave softly batted Klaus’s hand back down. “It’s just cause you’re new. Nobody wants to stick their neck out. Til you put in some time, most guys just don’t see your life as worth the same as theirs. Won’t even bother to think of you.”

     Klaus wasn’t so sure what a top shelf life was worth, let alone his. Whatever the value, it was probably all in nickels. Totally inconvenient. He glanced at Dave, who was at least a gold bar. Since he’d landed, Dave had kept an eye out for him. Made sure he knew and had what he needed, and backed him up if he didn’t. He always took Klaus’s side in platoon spats, and offered to join him whenever he was bullied into taking point. He was so  _good_. Just like that, something clicked. Klaus forgot all about the suitcase underneath his bunk. “You’re not like that, though. You’ve been really great, Dave.”

     “Well, I like you. And I know how hard the guys can be.”

     Klaus beamed hopefully. “‘Cause you’re  _‘new’_ , too?”

     Dave smiled to himself and took a long drag of his cigarette then pitched the butt into the mud. “I’ve been around this company too long, if anything. Long enough, they can tell when something’s off abouta guy.” He looked at Klaus pointedly. “You know what I mean.”

     He did, of course. He knew regular guys from Dave’s generation didn’t bother to stick up for a kind of obvious, kind of swishy dude like him unless they had some skin in the game. But if Dave was willing to go out on a limb, he would join him. How else were they gonna get to Klaus and Dave, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G? “Ohhh, I get it. You mean they know I can talk to ghosts or whatever.”

     This was of course, not what Dave had bargained for. His eyebrows shot up so far they disappeared under the brim of his helmet. “You... talk to ghosts?”

     “Yeah.” Klaus sighed. It was sort of a relief to put (most of) his cards on the table. “They got a lot of problems to yap about. But they don’t give a shit if me and you wanna hook up.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

     Dave gulped, but he didn’t deny him. He didn’t look around to check and see how exposed they were. He just licked his lips and waited as Klaus put out his cigarette and leaned in close. For once Klaus’s chest pounded wildly without an amphetamine kickstart. This might be  _the_  moment that defined everything else that came next... but instead their bulky helmets crashed together and rattled his skull.

     “Ouch.”

     Dave winced. “Sorry about that! Didn’t hit you in the eye, did I?”

     “Maybe!?” said Klaus, but Dave’s hand was already cradling the side of his face, checking the damage. Dave ran his thumb along his brow and Klaus could feel the bruise underneath, but it was somehow the tenderest, kindest touch he could remember. “Mostly just embarrassing,” he muttered.

     “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

     “Deal.” Klaus offered Dave a grimey pinky and grinned.

     “What’s this?”

     “A pinky swear! What are you, an only child?”

     “Actually, yeah.”

     He wriggled his pinky until Dave hooked it with his own. He had an adorable little squirmy smile on his face, like they were little boys and he’d just been trusted with knowledge of a secret pet turtle.

     “Then what do we do?” Dave asked expectantly.

     “I dunno. Get a room? A foxhole?”

     Even though a spatter of muck and ash, Dave blushed. “Gee, buy a guy a drink first.”

     “I can do that.” Didn’t matter if he wasn’t technically on the army payroll. It turned out a handful of nickels went a lot further in ‘68 than Klaus was used to.

     Somewhere in the valley, gunfire stuttered. An unwelcome reminder that they weren’t on perimeter for nothing. They took cover in the sandbags, but didn’t let go of each other’s hands. Dave looked out at the horizon, on alert, but the silly smirk was still there.

     “We’re gonna circle back to the ghost thing, though,” he said.

     “I figured,” Klaus smirked. He checked for any nearby ghost that could do a little recon, but there was just No Brainer, still shambling around, repeatedly walking into trees. Poor bastard. Maybe when this was all over he and Dave could find somewhere for blind ghosts to safely roam.

     A meadow would be perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @stitchyarts on twitter and tumblr, where I post fanart! Check me out there.


End file.
